In the Backseat
by samevanssmutfan
Summary: I'll just come right out and say it: Quinn masturbates Sam in the backseat of his car. Obviously rated M.


_This is my first story and I hope you enjoy reading it!_

In the Backseat

They're making out in the backseat of his car and for the first time ever, she isn't telling him to back off, that they're doing too much. Sam Evans is sure he's going to explode at just the thought of running his hand up her thigh. If she doesn't stop him, he'll be under her skirt in seconds. Quinn always stops him – will she this time?

She doesn't. They keep kissing, it's so passionate and hot. The fingers of her left hand are twirling blonde hair behind his ear while her right is pressed to his abs. Quinn moans into his mouth as he finds the warm skin of her thigh, just under the skirt; Sam's mind is going crazy.

"It's not too much?" He _is _a gentleman.

Quinn shakes her head as her lips trail down his neck; she wants him, but at the same time knows that he won't do _too _much.

Sam's heart is racing, beating a million beats per second. Her thigh is so, so warm, and it's like everything he's ever wanted in his life is right there, right under his fingertips. He might have done more, tried to push his luck, if not for what happened next.

She honestly doesn't mean to, but her hand falls against his pants, hitting his straining erection. Sam gasps at the contact, gasps at actually feeling her touching him _there, _even if it is through cotton and denim. "I'm sorry," Quinn quickly apologies.

He's heavy lidded and his eyes are dark, pupils blown at even that simple thing. "It's alright."

They both stare away for several heavy seconds, intently focusing on the car's leather interior as if it were an amazing relic from another age. Finally Quinn speaks first. "I, I've never seen one before, not in real life." She automatically can't believe she said it.

Sam swallowed, trying to keep his eyes from widening. "Do, do you wanna see it?" It comes out as barely above a whisper, and he prays to God that she doesn't think him a pervert for offering to expose himself.

Quinn bites her lip. "Can I?"

His chest feels like it's constricting as he brings his fingers down to his waist. Sam undoes the button on his jeans, then gingerly pulls down the zipper; the sound is like a bullet in the darkness. He's about to get naked in front of a living, breathing girl. This isn't his bedroom, and she isn't a naked woman with huge jugs on a laptop screen – this is real.

Quinn glances down when he shimmies his jeans down his hips and bunches them at his knees. His boxers are grey, and the knit does nothing to hide his erection, to keep it from jutting up at her. She so wants to reach out and touch it, to feel how hard it is.

"This is okay?" Sam asks, his voice thick and deep; he's sweating.

She really wants to see it. "Yes." It's just a whisper.

Sam nods, like he's agreed to flip the switch on an inmate in the electric chair or something. Swallowing again, he pushes the boxers down.

Quinn knows what to expect, but it's still an experience, seeing a boy in the flesh. His penis is creamy white just like the rest of him, except the head is blushing pink, quickly turning red under her gaze. It's standing up from a thatch of dark blonde curls, hair thick enough for her to run her fingers through – she doesn't of course; that would be kind of rude, right off the bat. His scrotum is pinkish with more of the little curly hairs on it.

"Can, um, can I . . ."

Sam's breath is coming out in pants. "You can touch it if you want."

God, does she want to! Licking her lips Quinn slowly extends tepid fingers, and when she reaches, her fingertips just graze the shaft. His breath hitches at the contact.

Quinn suddenly leans forward and presses her lips to his; the atmosphere is charged and slightly sticky in the hot back seat; he's trusted her with himself, all of him really, and she just needs to kiss him.

Sam groans under her lips as her hand finally grips him. He's never felt anything like having another person's hand there before. It's the most amazing feeling, and right then he knows that wanking off by himself isn't going to cut it anymore.

Her lips pull away as Quinn braces her forehead against his neck so she can watch herself pleasure him. The fingers of her other hand push through his pubes as she strokes. The hair is wiry yet strangely soft, and for whatever reason she finds it extremely hot – very manly. Sam makes a mewling sound as she twines the curls around her fingers; they're getting damp with his sweat and they thin out some as the hair climbs upward towards his naval.

"Quinn," he huffs, his voice so quiet. Her hand on his cock has been steady and constant, up then down, adding pressure and releasing. He can't take it much longer.

She knows Sam's close. Quinn leaves the hair and cups his balls in her hand. The sack starts out tight, but loosens a little as the interior of the car warms; there's fog on the windows. The wrinkly skin in her hand is so thin, and he jumps a little when she squeezes first one testicle, then the other. Quinn doesn't know what she's doing, she just wants to touch _everything. _

The silky movement of the skin over his rock hard shaft fascinates her, as does every wrinkle, every little hair. She's taking mental photographs to go over at night when she's alone. Quinn won't tell him, because she's not ready for that yet, but her panties are damp right now, soaked.

His neck is sweaty against her forehead. Quinn feels him tense, feels his balls retract, and then, from that little slit that she's been occasionally swiping her thumb over, the whiteness bursts forth. It smells like salt and gets on everything, coats her hand like some sort of goop as she continues to pump him. The semen is very hot.

Sam quivers and whimpers under her, and all of the sudden he's pretty embarrassed. He's just ejaculated all over a hot girl's hand, and she's looking at his dick like it's something off the cover of _National Geographic. _He occasionally goes through those, looking for the tribal women with huge boobs and no shirts.

Red faced, Quinn finally pulls back so that she can look at his face; it's alternating between various shades of red. "I've never done that before." She doesn't know if it's rude or not, but she can't think of anything else to do, so she wipes her hand on his jeans.

"You," it's still hard to breathe, "you were pretty good." Amazing, earthshattering, wonderful, best moment of his life, he could die happy. "It was nice. Uh, thanks."

Sam starts to pull his underwear up, but she stops him. Quinn wants to touch it when it's soft, so she pulls up the shorts, and tucks his cock and balls inside the fabric. He's all sweaty now, so the fabric sticks, giving a pretty telling outline.

After he buttons his jeans they both stare out into space for a while, unsure of the intricacies of post-masturbatory etiquette.

Sam ventures a guess. "So, uh, you wanna go get some ice cream?"

Quinn shrugs. "Sure."

The End

_Author note: So that was my first story! I hope it wasn't too awful! If you did like it, leave me a review. If people leave me reviews saying that the story wasn't too bad, I'll probably write more! As my nom de plum suggests, Sam Evans smut is my favorite, and I've got a thousand more ideas to see him naked! Lol_


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